


Dirty Dancing

by BulmaseekingVegeta



Series: I Heart the 80s [1]
Category: Dirty Dancing (1987), Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, No One Puts Baby In The Corner!, Vegebul, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 22:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulmaseekingVegeta/pseuds/BulmaseekingVegeta
Summary: During summer, innocent Bulma Briefs, nicknamed Baby by her family, vacations with her parents and older sister at a resort in the mountains.  One evening, she is drawn to the staff quarters by music, and there she meets Vegeta Saiyan, the hotel dance instructor, who is as experienced as Bulma is naive.  She soon becomes Vegeta's partner in dance... and in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The summary for this story was taken directly from Lionsgate's website for the 1987 film and was simple had a names replaced, that's my disclaimer for that. And my disclaimer for the rest of this story is as follows: I have tried to follow the movie as closely as possible (why mess with perfection?) and so some lines and scenes are exact copies of the film but with a Vegebul twist. I don't own Dirty Dancing or any part of the Dragon Ball franchise, those go to their requisite studios and creators. of which I am neither. I am simply a fan of both series and wanted to do this AU.
> 
> I'm publishing this on 6/9, Vegebul Day! Enjoy!

It was one of those summers where you gave monologues into the middle distance like they do in the movies.  It was one of those summers where you gave a voiceover about vague things you did because everything was so epic or it was so life-altering that vague was the best way to describe it and showing was the best way to tell it.  It was one of those summers where all of that happened in your head because it was all so boring that fantasy was your every waking dream and sleeping one as well.

Bulma rested her head against the bolster near the window, welcoming the cool breeze through her bushel of big, bouncy, teal curls.  She held the fashion magazine on her forearm for her Mother’s sake, but was actually intently looking over the engine schematic for her Father’s sake.  That was her act, balancing both parents’ expectations for her.  Something kicked her leg harshly and with the sharp point of its heel.  Bulma shifted her leg out of the way with a sigh concealed by the roar of the air into the car; as if taking up not only her side of the back seat wasn’t satisfying Tights enough, but now apparently half of Bulma’s side would suit her just fine as well.  Bulma glanced over at her elder sister by a handful of years.  Frankly, she was the near spitting image of their mother.  All blonde hair, blue eyes, and fashion doll figure.  It wasn’t that Bulma didn’t have a fashion doll figure, quite the contrary, she had a fabulous figure that she understood to be ‘drop dead’.  It was that she really didn’t care and that seemed to be the main thing her sister had a problem with her about.  Like now.  Here Bulma sat in the back seat of their parent’s car wearing a big, baggy t-shirt that hung well below her butt in a bright, bubblegum pink with her name in big, black, capital letters outlined in white with a pair of simple white shorts hidden underneath, and sneakers the color of her hair and purple anklets socks to add to the myriad of relatively mismatched colors she wore.  None of it was out of any fashion magazine.  Not even one of those ‘edgy’, haute whatever ones.  But every part of it was comfy to wear and that suited her just fine.  Meanwhile, here Tights sat wearing a designer, gemstone purple sundress with little white flowers printed all over it with a chic purple beret to match and little white peep-toe pumps on her feet.  Her window was raised, shut up tight against any hint of wind so as not to ruffle her perfectly straight, long blonde hair.  Sitting ramrod straight, again so as not to ruffle even a strand of that perfectly straight, long blonde hair.  The compact balanced perfectly on the opened palm of one white lace gloved hand while the other expertly wielded a stick of lipstick—nope, stain, lip stain.  Or wait, no, it was lipstick… wasn’t it?  She couldn’t tell anymore, not that she had a good grasp on it beforehand.

When her mother and her sister dragged her to a beauty store to ‘pack’ for the trip, Bulma had had no idea there was so much stuff you could put on your face let alone your lips and it all… had bored her to tears.  Bulma had gone browsing like any other fish out of water while her mother and sister had been connoisseurs.  Anything, _and_ everything, Bulma had picked out for herself had been unceremoniously shot down with accompanying ‘friendly’ fire of comments about the correlation between her taste level and her mental health.  It hadn’t taken long for her to just give up and succumb to their onslaught.  She shuffled along behind them carrying her shopping basket as they filled it to capacity with everything _they_ wanted for her.  And she’d dutifully packed it when they got home… along with a small library of science and engineering books for her own sake.  For special moments like dinners or whatever, she would be their dress-up doll and the rest of the time, she would do and read as she pleased.  Actually, she was looking forward to it.  She could just sit in an Adirondack chair overlooking the beautiful lake this resort was supposed to reside right on the shore of and just read to her heart’s content.  Oooh, maybe with a nice cup of hot tea.  Mmmm, that sounded great.  Bulma’s eyes rose up from her hidden schematics and for long minutes she watched the forest passing by… the dense, bright green foliage… the darkness of the canopy concealing the trunks… she sighed heavily, she couldn’t wait to get to this resort and just rest.

*                      *                      *

Pulling up to it, the resort certainly was popular.  It may have only been dozens of people in actuality but… nope, she suspected that it really was throngs of people here with plenty more inside or elsewhere out of view.  Bulma felt the stings of her muscles in her shoulders tensing with unease.  She really had been hoping for just some rest, relaxation with things that really interested her without being berated for it because those that usually do that would be doing their own things somewhere else and she would have some space and time to breathe, and do it all with a nice view of the lake, which was so expansive that it seemed more like some rural ocean than a lake.  The forest-covered mountains rising up around them gave the feeling of an epic scale combined with the sentiment of being nestled somewhere nice and cozy.  She loved it.  If it weren’t for all the people.  Would she be asked to interact with them?  A lot of them?  On a regular basis?  Doing what exactly?

As they were getting out of the car and her father was handing over the keys to the valet, she got a good look.  Some were on the lawn doing… hopping around like bunnies???  Okaaaay, she thought.  Others were playing volleyball or other games.  Still more were walking around just chatting with each other.  Others lying on chairs, tanning themselves.  And someone announcing still other events over hidden loudspeakers.  As she kept turning, looking around her, her eyes took in the massive domed complex that was the main building.  It must have cost a fortune to build to New Age specs that made the thing look otherwordly and out of place but somehow not out of place in such a forested environment.  Littler domes of varying sizes, she assumed levels, surrounded it.  And beyond it was that vast and beautiful oceanic lake.  Bulma glanced over at her family.  Her father and mother wrapping an arm around each other as they feasted their eyes on the complex, Tights visibly eyeing up all the luggage of the other new arrivals as well as their attire for any signs of threats to her self-appointed status as the Center of Attention.  From what Bulma could tell of her elder sister’s sour expression and glaring darts eyes, she saw stiff competition for herself and she did not like that at all.  Tights only ever had to contend for male attention once, her father’s attention and her running competition in that was Bulma whom she always viewed as not really all that much competition.  But this, having to catch a guy’s eye with other candy around… nope, that was going to be a new experience for Tights and it looked to be quite the unwelcomed one.  Yep, Bulma returned her eyes to the pristine waters that seemed to be magically calling her name to its shores, she bet anything that she would get all the reading done she wanted without a whiff of intrusion.  Thank God.

A boom of laughter rang out and drew her attention.  Approaching them looked to be a… well… yeah, there was no hiding or tiptoeing around how fat the short guy was.  He was so pink in this face… actually he looked to be bright pink all over with a piggish sort of face and grey hair so thin it was practically invisible with a lumpy scalp.  He looked sort of, she tried to put on a polite face, boy did this guy look unhealthy.

“Dodo!”  Her father greeted.  Bulma kept the frown to herself, what kind of name was Dodo?  Didn’t women usually go by that nickname?  Wasn’t it short for Dorothy?  What typically male name hand the short form of Dodo?

“Doc!”  The fat man greeted.  He stretched out a fat, pink hand to shake her father’s extended one.  Bulma feared the pull and strain on the man’s golden suit… and that his purple tie only served to enhance his unhealthy appearance rather than give the chic sentiment he was going for.

As the two men chatted on warmly, Bulma couldn’t help but wonder exactly how they’d become friends and maintained that for so long.  Long enough that this Dodo character had ‘gifted’ her family with this nice, swanky vacation.  Yes, her father was an excellent doctor.  Private practice and all after a long, prestigious career at one of the top hospital’s in the country.  But how on Earth did he ever run into this guy?  Maybe at the hospital, he was a specialist, the best; maybe someone like a wealthy private resort owner would have looked into a specialist, the best, for his own care…  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that unlikely that they would know each other, but still… there was something about this man.  The pink?  The abnormally lumpy head underneath the thinning hair?  It was all incredibly shallow of her, but she just couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was about this Dodo that was… giving her… the creeps.  She would have said hibby-jibbies, but that didn’t seem to quite do her feeling justice, it didn’t quite cover it.  Still, she tried to be polite like both her parents had taught her but kept a discreet distance behind her father near the passenger doors of their car.

She got an elbow and looked over thinking her mother had caught on and was ‘discreetly’ admonishing her daughter for such ‘unwarranted’ behavior, but the elbow belonged to her sister.  Throwing a fit that some other good-looking girl around her age had brought a dress that was exactly the same as one of the dozens that she had brought.  Bulma fought to roll her eyes.  They were only staying for what, three weeks.  Twenty-one days!  Why on Earth did anyone, _anyone_ , need over fifty dresses for twenty-one days?  Three options per dining occasion plus activities outfits, Tights had explained in her usual talking-down tone of voice that made it seem like any idiot child would totally understand her reasoning and Bulma was just being dense.  Meanwhile, Bulma thought the reasoning itself was dense as hell… and childish.

“It’s not that big a deal.  Just wear it better than her, you brought enough crap,” Bulma grumbled looking back at the offending dress and competition.

“Shut it, Baby,” Tights snapped, glaring at her ‘Who Wore It Best’ competition and using the childhood nickname for her little sister.

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Baby,” her mother echoed the nickname, “What better than to simple outshine in whatever room you’re in.  You are certainly good at that, Tights, dear.  Wouldn’t that new rouge and shimmer eyeshadow pallet you bought simply make you dazzle and you could try that new hairstyle from that magazine tutorial you’ve been dying to give a try.”

Tights’ expression began to change.  She shifted weight on her feet to a confident sort of semi-swagger that had her feet glued to the spot but not her hips.  “You know what, Mother, I think you’re right.”

This time, Bulma did roll her eyes.  Hadn’t she just suggested that?  But apparently she was the wrong messenger.  Their mother, right; Bulma, wrong.  She sighed, when were they going to go to their rooms or whatever so she could get the rest and reading exactly?

“Cabba!”

Bulma startled at the harsh bark.  Staring wide-eyed at the fat man.

He was glaring at a young man next to him.  Short, but Bulma attributed that to his rather young age; she pegged late teens, maybe twenty or twenty-one at most, but surely not anything more than that.  His hair was rather short and shaggy cut, which made him look even younger in her opinion.  He was wearing simple pair of dark wash jeans with a royal blue polo shirt.  His sneakers weren’t high-end, but they seemed to be doing a good job despite looking well-worn.  His whole demeanor was chipper and eager to do a good job.  Nothing at all warranting Dodo’s harsh ordering at the boy’s expense.

“Get their bags, you…”  Dodo trailed off.  He caught himself, Bulma could tell, before he said something extremely unsavory and unseemly in front of the guests.  Something he apparently did so regularly, so offhandedly, that he himself nearly screwed up and did it in front of people he knew might look down on such behavior.

Bulma looked to her father for a kind and subtle reprimand of his friend’s demeaning talk towards one of his employees.  But didn’t find it.  In fact, her eyebrows quirked at her father’s profile, he didn’t seem to even be considering doing anything of the sort.  But… why?  Hadn’t her father always taught her to treat others as equals with the same respect she would expect them to show her?  Hadn’t she always been taught to show common human decency?

“Yessir, Mister Dodoria,” Cabba rushed out happily and hurried to their trunk to begin unloading it.

She watched her father just let the young man hurry by without a word but a smile on his face that he then turned back towards his ‘old friend’ for some more inane chitter chatter.  Bulma turned to her mother and sister, but they’d resumed sizing up Tights’ competition and coming up with a game plan to ensure that Tights would catch all the attention (perhaps they meant suck all the air out of, Bulma thought) any room she stepped in during their vacation.  Quietly, Bulma turned to face the raised door of their trunk and walked around it to help the eager young man unloading their things like a servant… although she was getting the sinking suspicion that slave would be a better description of how Mister Dodoria treated him.

Cabba had already unloaded one of Tights’ lavender-colored, horrendously heavy suitcases and was reaching in for another as Bulma reached in beside him and unloaded another of Tights’ seven suitcases.

“Hey, thanks.  That’s really nice of you.”  Bulma flashed a shy smile at the kid, but felt a pang at his shocked tone of voice.  Was it really so out of the ordinary for someone to help him with their own things?  Had no one thought of being kind and courteous like that before now?

“No problem,” she answered and decided to give him a bigger smile as they set the cases down on the pavement.

As they reached into the car for more cases again, she heard Tights’ excited cry, “Dancing!  Oh, I love dancing!”

_Dancing?  What dancing?_

*                      *                      *

She should have known, she wanted to groan.  But being continuously jostled around and elbowed by her sister and her mother and her father and a bunch of other people pretty much took the wind out of her for that.  All she wanted to do was run.  Run and find out where their room was, sit in some chair, _any_ chair that was the hell away from here, and study her schematics.  For God’s sake, all she wanted to do was just run and hide.  Not, another elbow jabbed painfully into her rib cage, this time from a little old lady that seemed perfectly content to be bumping into everyone like it was a game of human bumper cars, here.

And how exactly was this dancing again?!

The wildly haired slim woman at the front of their gazebo floor was shimming from side to side and hollering at them about what to do next and laughing and yelling over the loud music about what fun they were all having… and Bulma couldn’t disagree more.

The woman, dance teacher, spun around to the beat of the loud, upbeat music, swirling her skirts to Tights’ delight.  “Woohoo!”  She cheered and the students hooted too.

Bulma didn’t.  Finding relief in a moment’s solace from not being poked or prodded.  That didn’t last as the woman with the long, raven hair pranced in front of them with a great big smile on her face.  She was pretty.  Kind of short like Cabba, looked kind of related to him, maybe, and wearing a purple sundress that accentuated her figure nicely without making it too attractive.  Tarba was her name.

Suddenly she broke the group by gender.  The men dancing by her instruction in an outer ring, women in an inner one.  It disoriented the hell out of Bulma and when they started to conga, she started frantically searching for her father.  She didn’t like people touching her waist so familiarly.  And she didn’t like being herded like this either.  She wanted to leave or at least have the safety of her father around her.

She spotted him just as Tarba yelled for them to face each other and partner up.  Relieved Bulma reached for her smiling father… only to be cut off by the smiling Tarba making some comment that had the married women in the room giggling along with their husbands.  Bulma ended up getting chummy with the bumper car old lady, Miss Baba.  She kept jabbering on about how she and her brother Roshi always came here every year and just loved it.  Bulma kept focusing on the good manners her parents had drilled into her head since the moment she was born.  Tense smile and all.

Next came a guided tour of the place by Mister Dodo; Bulma still didn’t feel comfortable about the pink, fat man as well as starting to wonder if this was a distraction because their rooms weren’t ready yet or something.  But no, the tour ended with the most welcome sight Bulma had ever seen: a private domed villa all their own for their stay.  It was lakefront and had a wrap-around porch.  Spectacular!

They each had grand rooms complete with closets the size of most regular hotel suites.  Tights was ecstatic and began immediately setting out her suitcases and filling her walk-in closet and displaying her plethora of makeup on the vanity sitting just outside its double-doors.  And Bulma, _ahhh_ , Bulma finally got to breathe in peace and quiet and away from everyone else.  She went to her windows and saw nothing but lush green forest and brilliant white porch.  There was a knock at her door.

“Yeah,” she said absently.

Her mother poked her head in, “Sweety, we’ll being doing dinner in just couple of hours.  Make sure you’re dressed pretty and ready in time.”

“Okay,” Bulma nodded and her mother closed the door, leaving Bulma alone again.

She really wasn’t entirely sure why her mother needed her to be pretty for dinner other than putting on a nice front for Mister Dodoria and maybe the other guests.  As much as Tights viewed other girls as competition for the available male attention in a room, her mother viewed other women as competition for the prestigious Best Family award or at least Best Hostess or whatever.  Bulma for the life of her didn’t understand why they both put so much time in what others thought of them.  Wouldn’t it just be easier to let you be you and them be them and just live your lives?  Wouldn’t it?  It didn’t sound like doing that would be too hard?

Still, Bulma heaved her first of two suitcases on her bed and opened it.  She searched through it, pulling out item by item and assessing.  Not by her criteria for dinner which was just clothes, but by her mother’s and sister’s standards which was considerably more than just clothed.  Well… she finally pulled out a dress.  It was relatively conservative.  Her mother and sister didn’t particularly like it, but it was dressier than other clothes that Bulma had brought with her after repacking behind her mother and sister’s backs.  She slipped out of her shorts and pink shirt and slipped the dark rose-pink dress on.  Then she went into the walk-in closet and looked at herself in the full-length mirror there.  She’d keep her socks on, probably change out her sneakers for some ballet flats when it actually came time for dinner, but right now her sneakers were just fine.  She wouldn’t do anything with her hair or her face, which would annoy her mother and sister but they wouldn’t push the issue… too much.  The color was nice on her and so was the A-line cut.  It hugged and followed the lines of her figure nicely without being too much.  Just the right amount of attractive.  It was a rounded neckline that ended an inch or two below her neck, effectively covering her up, and its hem ended just below her calves, effectively covering her up.  Okay, so she was ready for dinner until dinner was actually here.

And what her mother hadn’t said was that Bulma had to wait around or hang out with the family until that time, just that she had to be ready by then.  She checked the clock on her nightstand, she still had an hour and forty-five minutes.  Good.  She could go looking around with the bother of others or some creepy guy grandstanding in front of them, she was free.  For the moment.

Quickly, Bulma hurried out of her room and down the hall.  The door to the next room was open and she found her sister already sitting in front of her vanity, beginning the primping which would indeed take up the two hours before their dinner reservation, with their mother standing right behind her, helping.  They were in heaven with all their pretty dresses and makeup and fashion stuff.

“Mom, I’m going to have a look around before dinner.”  Bulma stopped in the doorway.

“That’s nice, dear, just be back before— Bulma, I didn’t pack that for you!”

Bulma turned and hurried away just as her sister joined her mother’s scandalized voice, “Bulma, how dare you wear that ugly thing!  Mom, make her change.  She’s going to embarrass us!”

Bulma exchanged a mischievous grin with her father as he playfully shooed her out the door to their domed villa, his way of telling her he’d provide her with cover and to not worry about anything.  He’d handle it.  Her Daddy always handled everything.  With that, Bulma let the door swing shut behind her and relished in the padding of her footsteps racing along the porch to the gap in its railing that had her headed automatically in the direction of the main building.

 

* * *

I was inspired to publish this earlier than I was thinking I would by the incredible artwork of Rutbisbe on Twitter, first with [this post](https://twitter.com/rutisfree/status/1130600711820124161) and then with [this one](https://twitter.com/rutisfree/status/1130967438722555904).  I hope you enjoy her art and enjoy this story.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment her feet landed on grass, she breathed a sigh of relief and felt all the tenseness of her muscles since she arrived melt away to that relaxation that she had come here craving to feel.  It was glorious.  Glorious enough that she started skipping along the lawn to the main house.  Enjoying the cool breeze that came with sunset.  The swelling of clean, fresh air in her lungs.  She closed her eyes and lived.

She quickly opened her eyes before living could trip her up on the grass and have her running into a door or wall or something like an idiot.  She laughed at herself as she slowed her skipping and walked through one of the side doors to the main building.

It was quiet and still like it was prepping for a big swell of life to happen.  She smiled to herself as she admired the fine furnishings and the paintings and everything else, _Dinner_.  She didn’t doubt that that would have this place buzzing and filled to capacity in no time.  But… for the time being, she would just let her legs carry her where they would and if she got lost in here, then she would just flag down an employee and ask to be led back.  Simple.

She had made her way up to the second floor and was walking along the bank of massive windows that afforded a spectacular view of everything outside when she heard Mister Dodoria’s voice again.  Her head turned to the right, to the sound, saw one of a set of double doors opened just a crack up ahead with the yellow glow of a lit room shining through into the hall she was walking in.  Bulma slowed and left the windows to approach the door.  As she got closer, she heard more.

“There are two kinds of people in the world: the elites and the monkeys.”

Bulma wrinkled her nose at that.  What a disgusting and offensive way to describe anyone.  How on Earth was her father friends with this disgusting man?  Maybe he didn’t know about Mister Dodoria’s opinions?  Maybe.

“Now, I brought you here under the recommendation of the Frieza Recruiting and Staffing Agency.  You were headhunted from all the top Universities.  Satan City University, West City University.  That means you better damn well _act_ like you’re worth all that effort.  This is a ‘family place’.”

She didn’t like Dodoria’s air quotes, she didn’t like the implication.

“So, while I’m showing the parents a good time, you better be showing the daughters a good time too, damn it.  And I mean _all_ the daughters, not just the pretty ones but the dogs too.”

There was a unanimous groan from the assembled wait staff and Bulma felt her stomach roll.  Good time?  Dogs?  What sort of a resort was this place?  Suddenly Bulma didn’t want to just sit and read in front of her beautiful littoral view; she wanted to get her father, mother, and sister and get the hell out of here.  She wanted them all as far away from this place as possible.  Never in her life had she heard anyone ever talk about people this way or insinuate such things.

“You know what I mean.  Take them out to the lake for a nice walk.  Fake listening to their girlie crap.  You all know where the keys are to the boathouse,” he wiggled his knobby eyebrows at them and Bulma felt her stomach lurch with vomit, “And if there’s someone showing a girl a good time in there already, then there’s always the woods.  Grab a nice blanket and have some fun with them.”

Bulma’s hand shot up to her mouth just as the acrid taste of bile reached there.  And, and what if a girl didn’t want to be shown a ‘good time’ or engage in any of this ‘fun’ with anyone?  What then?  All of this was sickening.

“You all know what to do,” Dodoria was saying when a handsome dark-haired man walked in behind him, crossing the room.

“You got that guys!”  He remarked snidely as he passed behind Dodoria.  Cabba was with him as well as a handful of others.  Their features were all so similar that Bulma thought for a moment that they all had to be related in some way.  They all had dark eyes and dark hair; although the snide one seemed to have the most unique hair of all, it was flame-shaped.  Exotic.  And there was one with really long hair that was pulled back into a ponytail that looked absolutely wild.  And one was absolutely bald, no hair at all, but he did have a rather full moustache.  Save for Cabba, they were all incredibly muscular and tall…  Well, not the snide one who was taller than Cabba, but nowhere near as tall as the others that seemed to just be massive towers of muscle.

Dodoria turned on them sharply.  His eyes glaring daggers at the snide one.

“Hey!”  His sharp voice cracked like a whip and the passersby stopped to face him.  It was clear the snide one was the ringleader and he didn’t seem like he was about to back down to Dodoria for a moment.  “Well if it isn’t the entertainment,” again Bulma didn’t like how Dodoria sneered the word ‘entertainment’.  Turning the innocent word into a put down.  He shoved a fat pink finger in the snide young man’s face, “Listen smartass, you all have your own cabins out the back this year, but you will do as you are told!”  Bulma hated that line.  “You are to dance with the daughters.  Teach them the mambo, the cha-cha, and anything else they or their parents pay for.  _But_ ,” again the whip crack, “nothing else!  That’s for the elites,” he pointed back at the waiters, “Not for you!”  He shoved his finger into the snide man’s chest.

Snide took it, but he was glaring horrible, horrible death at the pink man in front of him.  It was clear that there were no pleasant feelings between them whatsoever.

“You don’t talk to them.  You don’t mess around with them.  Keep!  Your!  Hands!  Off!  Got that!”

Snide’s jaw worked menacingly.  For a moment Bulma feared that the young, flame-haired man was going to punch the old fat man if not kill him right then and there, but instead, he nodded.  Just nodded.  Even though his whole body seemed to be vibrating for a fight.

Feeling he’d won the day, Dodoria turned his back on the fuming man with a sneering smile and walked back towards the wait staff.

“Tch,” the longhaired one scoffed at Dodoria’s back, “It’s always the same.  Take ‘em to the woods and fuck ‘em,” Bulma startled at the use of such vulgar language, “but don’t you dare even bother to actually talk to ‘em.”

As the chuckles rose up around the room and Bulma wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt at shelter and comfort and warmth, Dodoria wheeled around, “Shut up, Radditz!”

The longhaired one, Radditz, rolled his eyes and the ‘entertainment’ staff began to walk off too.

“Now get back to work.  Dinner’s not going to serve itself and I’m not about to let anyone in here until this place is ready!”  Dodoria stormed off out of the dining room through a set of swinging doors, probably leading to the kitchen.

Bulma was about to walk away too when…

“You think you can handle that, Vegeta?”

The voice was silken, but laden with condescension and other things that made Bulma’s skin crawl.  She turned back to the crack of lit room and watched.  It was one of the wait staff.  Tall, handsome, seemed to be as young as the snide entertainer was, and tending to a table with a self-satisfying grin on his face as he did so.  He looked up and locked eyes with the snide one.

“Well,” he purred at him, “can you?”

The snide one walked up to him slowly.  The whole room seeming to freeze to watch what might be going down.  Bulma held her breath, eyes widening with every step.  But the waiter just fluffed his long, emerald green hair by flipping his ponytail over his shoulder in a sort of… well, she guessed it was meant to be an attractive, perhaps come-hither shrug… she guessed, it just looked stupid to her.  But this Vegeta guy was undeterred.  While both had equally well-built physiques, the waiter was much taller.  _Much_ taller.  He opened his hazel eyes to literally look down on Vegeta and the look in his eyes, even from here Bulma could see that he knew he had the height advantage among the obvious support of Dodoria.

Vegeta seemed to be gritting his teeth, his face and jaw setting, “Just keep putting your pickle on everybody’s plates and leave the hard stuff to me, Zarbon.”

With that Vegeta turned and slapped away the small stack of neatly and ornately folded napkins meant for the table Zarbon was supposed to be setting before walking off, leading the rest of his crew out of the dining room to the oohs, aahs, and hisses of Zarbon’s fellow wait staff.

Sensing everything was finally over, Bulma quietly stepped back from the doors and tiptoed down the hallway until she felt it was safe to make a break for her family’s villa.  She didn’t know what to make of—No!  She knew exactly what to make of what she’d just heard.  The thing was…  _Does Daddy know?_

Vegeta caught the glimpse of fluttering pink out of the corner of his eye.  And looked over at it.  That teal-haired girl he saw listening in at the dining room doors was running down the hall.  She looked…   _Hmmm_ , he figured she’d heard pretty much everything.  So what then?  Spoiled, little princess deserved to know what the real world was like.

“Who’s that?”

Vegeta rolled his eyes as he practically heard Radditz eyeing the girl up and down with just the sound of his voice.

“She’s that doctor friend of Dodoria’s daughter.  She’s really nice.  Helped me get the luggage out of their car.”

Vegeta glanced over at the back of her fleeing head.  So, she’d helped Cabba… he turned his eyes back to straight ahead, that changed nothing.  She was still a guest and worst yet, her father was one of Dodoria’s closest friends.  Like he expected much from any family that would associate with the likes of him like that.  She helped with the bags, so what?  She was still one of the privileged few, one of what Dodoria called the Elites.  She knew nothing about the real world.  She was just another privileged, spoiled brat.

*                      *                      *

The sound of her footsteps finally drowned out the echoes of the voices in her head as her racing feet made contact with whitewashed wood flooring.  _Elites… dogs… good time… fun…_   Just when her anxiety was hitting the roof, her hand wrapped around the door handle and she opened it.  Her father wasn’t in the living area.  She went down the hallway to the rooms.  She checked her parents’ room.  No one.  She heard voices coming from her sister’s room.  She dashed there.  Her sister was inside throwing yet another fit.  She was wearing the ‘Who Wore It Best’ dress and was hollering and stamping her foot about shoes.  Their mother was trying to placate her, but Tights was absolutely livid that… wait, what was she livid about exactly?  The shoes were peep toes, which was the style she wanted.  They were the same color as the dress, and wasn’t that her point?  So… wait, “Mom, where’s Daddy?”

“Not now, Baby!”  Tights screamed and went stomping into her walk-in closet.

“He’s in our bathroom, Sweetie.  Tights, dear, Tights, don’t get yourself worked up,” her mother rushed after her sister.

Bulma turned and went back to her parent’s room, stood in the doorway, and called, “Daddy?”

He appeared.  He held the fabric at his throat up in surrender.  “Baby, did Mom ever teach you how to tie ties?”

Bulma hurried up to her father and took the fabric in hand.  She began diligently going through the steps her mother had drilled into her head as something she supposedly would need to know later on in life.  “Daddy?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“Ummm,” … how was she supposed to start this exactly?  “What if… um… I overheard…”

“Baby, you shouldn’t be listening in at doors.  I thought we told you to stop doing that when you were little.”

“You did and I have.  It’s just that—”

“Dear, it’s time to go!”  Her mother called.

Bulma turned and saw her sister huffing and puffing her stomping way past the doorway.  Her mother came in just as Bulma was finishing her father’s tie.  She practically beamed at the sight.

“Oh, Baby, that’s a beautiful job.”  She admired Bulma’s handiwork.  Bulma could design and build a whole new type of engine and show that to her mother and it would get dismissed as ‘Oh, that’s nice, dear’ without even a glance at it, but she ties a stupid tie and gets rave reviews and all the admiration in the world.  Sometimes Bulma thought her mother had her priorities a little… off.

“Well, let’s get a move on, shall we?”  Her father beamed.

“Yes, Trunks, let’s.”

Her parents linked arms, but Bulma hadn’t budged.  And she wasn’t going to.

“But Daddy—”

“Bulma,” her mother suddenly sounded scandalized, “Your shoes!  Change those at once!”

“But—”

“It’s alright, Baby.  We’ll talk later, now hurry and go change your shoes before your mother and sister die of fright.”

“Oh, Trunks,” her mother playfully batted her husband’s bicep.

But Bulma simply nodded then turned and walked to her room.  She kicked off her shoes as she entered and picked up the ones she’d left sitting on her bed.  She dropped them on the floor, slipped off her socks, slipped her feet into the red ballet flats, and headed out into the living area.

“Finally,” her sister snapped, waiting at the front door, then promptly shoved the door open and stomped out.

Her mother sighed and followed, catching the door on it’s return swing so it at least didn’t slam shut.  Her father shot her a look of conspiratorial exasperation before following.

“Daddy,” Bulma suddenly rushed at him, “You’re sure we’ll talk later?”

“Yes, Baby, I’m sure.  Later, okay.  Later.”

Bulma nodded, placated, and followed her father out of their villa.  Her father had never lied to her and when he promised her he’d do something, he did it.  She could always rely on her father.  She could always trust him.


End file.
